North of Neverland
by ephemerals
Summary: James grins, one corner of his mouth tugging upward just a little higher than the other, as he takes a step towards me, totally violating my personal-space bubble. "Look on the bright side, Lia," he says. I swear I can see satisfaction glowing in his eyes. "You get to spend the next thirty days with me."


There is no way we aren't going to get caught.

"I told you this was a stupid idea," Kayley reminds me, raking a hand through her hair. She's right: this was – _is _– a stupid idea.

"You're right." I shrug, smirking a little. "Not that that's ever stopped us before, though." It's true. An irrefutable fact. There are three things Kayley and I can hardly ever turn down: cute boys, illicit contraband, and the promise of a good time.

Lucky us – tonight, we'd hit the trifecta.

I snatch the bottle out of Celeste's hands, ignoring her affronted look, and take a swig of it. The firewhiskey burns my throat as it goes down. It's absolutely vile and tastes more like lighter fluid than anything, but I take another long pull anyway. And then another. As I'm working on my fourth, Celeste steals the bottle back from me and laughs, "God, Lia, didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

Kayley giggles and hooks her chin over my shoulder, her arms around my stomach. I don't really like to be touched – it honestly makes my skin crawl – but I let her anyway. She's my best friend. Out of all the bad decisions I've made in my life, Kayley Lockhart is unquestionably the best of them.

We're pretty simple: I love her because no matter what, she's always got my back. We met in first year when we were assigned seats next to each other in Transfiguration, and truly bonded over the fantastic nose bleed I gave Tommy McLaggen for calling Kayley a 'dumb bitch'. She's honestly the coolest person I know; her wardrobe is full of vintage clothes and she knows every _Banshees _song by heart, and she doesn't care what anyone thinks. The best thing about her is that for some unexplainable reason, she seems to think I'm awesome, too.

"Kayley, are you trying to steal my girl?" I stumble as Trey takes me by the wrist and drags me towards him. He moves his hands to circle my waist, pulling me in closer, before sliding one up, beneath my shirt, to rest against my rib cage. It takes me a second to remember how to breathe normally as he leans down, his breath hot against my face. He takes one of my hands in his, an unusually affectionate gesture on his part, and I spend a few moments just searching his handsome face, marvelling at his carefully mussed blonde hair. Trey is unbelievably hot; I couldn't deny it even if I wanted to. But he and I, whatever we have, it's not what everyone thinks. I don't expect anyone else to be able to understand when I barely can myself; I'd explain it if I could, but the problem is, I still haven't sorted out how I feel about things yet. About Trey.

I like him, I know I do, but it's more complicated than that.

"So you're his girl now, are you?" Celeste snaps, irritated, though I can't begin to fathom why.

"I'm not his anything," I reply coolly. "And what the hell is your problem, Zabini?"

She shrugs and brings the firewhiskey bottle to her lips. When she looks back to me, she's smiling. "Nothing," she gushes. "You two are just so _ca-yute_." And then she walks away before anyone can say anything else.

Immediately, I begin extracting myself from Trey's arms, shoving him back a few steps and tugging my shirt down from where his hands rucked it up. I feel guilty, and even more than that, angry with myself for feeling guilty when I have no reason to. Trey's fixed me with an unperturbed look, one corner of his mouth tilted up in his trademark smug half-smile as he watches me fuss.

When I glare at him, all he says is, teasingly, "We arepretty _ca-yute_," and I don't hesitate for even half a second when I whack him solidly across the chest for it. But Trey's gotten Celeste's high-pitched baby voice down pat – the one some girls like to adopt because they think it's endearing or something when really, it's just the opposite –and, despite myself, I can't stifle my laughter. Kayley laughs along with me, and when he drops a quick kiss on my forehead before he wanders off, I don't bother to stop him.

"So," she begins. Kayley raises her eyebrows and glances from me to Trey's retreating figure uncertainly, like she's thinking over whatever she's about to tell me next. I scramble to find something to say, anything to distract her away from the topic of my convoluted relationship with him.

Instead, before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "Trey and I – we're not like that."

Stupid, stupid, _stupid. _My mouth is incapable of ever listening to my brain, it seems.

Kayley's disbelief is printed all over her face. "Sure," she scoffs, pointing her finger at me accusingly. "And I also happen to be a blushing virgin."

"Oh, please. We both know that's a lie," I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest. Kayley had lost her v-card to short-stint boyfriend Stephan Perkins during the Christmas break of fifth year and hadn't spared me any of the details when she'd recounted the experience. Since then, I know she's shagged other guys, too. Kayley's no virgin. And she's never been the blushing sort, either.

"Don't avoid the subject. You and Trey are – "

"We're not! Seriously," I sputter, cutting her off. "We're just friends. It's not a big deal."

She rolls her eyes. "Lia, are you serious? Do you really not see the way he looks at you?"

Part of me instinctively wants to tell her to lay off – Trey knows what he's getting from me and he doesn't expect anything more, so why does everyone else seem to? The other part of me, though, is curious to know what she means, why the way he looks at me even matters. In the end, self-denial wins out.

I sigh and let my arms fall to my sides. "Just drop it, Kayley."

Suddenly, the Quidditch pitch explodes with light, and there's a moment of stunned silence; nobody moves or says anything – we all just gape. It's like – suspended animation. And then somebody shrieks. Ear-piercingly loud. _'There is no way we aren't going to get caught,' _I'd thought, and I'd been right.

All hell breaks loose; it's complete mayhem around us – forty teenagers all running in different directions, tripping and shoving one another, screaming until their throats hurt. I feel Kayley tense beside me. We both look away from the horde of approaching professors to stare at each other. She and I are alike, fortunately – we're both thinking the same thing; there are only two possible options now: fight or flight. If Kayley and I bolted now, we'd have nowhere to run but back to our dormitories. It's possible they'd already seen our faces; Gryffindor's Head of House, Professor Thomas, would have no trouble apprehending us from our beds. Even if no one had recognised us yet, and we managed to escape, it'd only be a matter of time until someone who _hadn't _gotten away rats us out to save their own arses. Kayley and I share a meaningful glance.

_"Stay where you are!"_

We decide to take our chances.

Without a moment's hesitation, she propels ahead of me and I run as fast as I can after her, meeting Kayley stride for stride. Like a pair of seasoned Olympic sprinters, we make a mad dash towards the opposite end of the pitch, pushing past other students, occasionally ducking and half-sliding to avoid all the flailing arms and rogue elbows. Thanks to four years' worth of daily three-and-a-half mile runs, Kayley and I are more than well-equipped for this impromptu escape strategy; the pace comes naturally and despite every step forward, my breathing remains surprisingly even. So far, so good. At least, until I stumble.

To be fair, it's not my fault that I end up sprawled on the grass in a heap of limbs; the blame for that lays solely with the something – some_one_ – that crashed into me from behind, and tackled me to the ground.

Yeah, that's right. _I had just been tackled_.

I open my mouth to scream, but only a strangled sort of cry in the back of my throat comes out. My elbow connects with my captor's stomach and I try to pull away, twisting around so it's my back pressed against the grass, rather than my stomach. I realise it's not a professor holding me down, but rather, the school's precious Head Boy. James Potter's characteristically messy, dark hair sticks out in all directions; it looks as if he's just rolled out of bed. Which, at this ungodly hour, probably isn't too far from the truth.

"Are you insane?" he demands. "Stop fighting me."

He grabs me again, shifting until I'm pinned beneath him with my heaving chest pressed up against his, grappling to keep me still as I struggle fiercely, trying to break free. James' grip is firm enough to hurt, and his face is so close to mine, we're almost sharing breaths.

"Let me go." My heart's pounding too fast, and I can't stop shaking. I don't know why I'm shaking.  
"First, you've got to calm down," he says. "I'll let you go if you just calm down." My eyes snap to his and for a few seconds, we both stare at each other, left gasping for air from the struggle. When he feels me begin to relax, he eases his hold and gives me some space, but it's not enough.

I scramble away from him, placing an adequate six feet distance between us, and take a deep, shuddering breath, and then another. And then another, until I've stopped trembling enough to find my voice again.

"You bloody prat!" I snap, shooting him the dirtiest look I can manage. "What did you attack me for?"

James looks absolutely scandalised, staring at me like I'm the craziest person he's ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with. "I didn't attack you," he retorts, sounding a little confused, and a lot annoyed. "I stopped you from getting away, that's all."

"_By attacking me._"

I stay down on the ground for a moment, still gathering my bearings, before I tentatively pull myself to my feet. James does the same and brushes off his jeans, shaking his head as if I'm not worth the effort of an argument. I'm so infuriated by his dismissal that I could punch him. I start towards him, but before I can even take a step, a familiar voice shouts out my name, "_Lia!_", and my head snaps around so fast it's a surprise it doesn't come flying clean off.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my _God_," Kayley chants as she runs towards me. I'm fleetingly dazed – she shouldn't still be here. What is she doing here? Kayley would have made it away; after all, she's not the one who'd been taken down by one hundred and fifty pounds of testosterone. If the grass stains marking my shirt, front _and_ back, are anything to go by, the victim of that particular assault had been _me_. She's still chanting as she grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me into a vicious hug, when the thought comes to me. It's just a flicker of a notion, but it's enough.

"You're such an idiot, Kayley," I laugh into her shoulder, holding her tighter. "Next time I get in trouble, promise me that you'll keep running; forget about coming back to save me, or whatever it was you were planning to do. _God_, you're so stupid sometimes."

"Are you okay? I can't believe he jumped you like that," Kayley says breathlessly. "Did he hurt you?" She steps back, taking me in from head to toe, presumably searching for non-existent injuries.

"I'm fine," I tell her. "Really, I am." She looks me in the eye for a second longer before she nods, relieved.

"So, what happens now?" Kayley asks, wrapping her fingers around my wrist, like she's afraid if she doesn't hold on to me, if she doesn't hold on, I'll just disappear, or float away into the clouds. Something like that. She glances over her shoulder towards the professors gathering the remaining nine or ten students into a group. Looking terrified, they all cower before authority, heads bent respectfully, clutching at one another like life preservers.

"It's just the cowards left behind." She tells me, rolling her eyes. "And us."

"Hey." It's James, right at my ear. Kayley and I jump about a foot in the air.

"Don't _do _that," I snarl. "Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?" He gives me an incredulous look, as if he thinks _he _should be the one asking _me _that.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "But you need to separate. And don't say anything else to each other." James yanks me backwards by the elbow, pushing himself between us.

"Why not?" I ask. "Feeling threatened by two little, harmless girls?"

He turns to me abruptly as he says, "Only an idiot would think of either of you as _harmless_." His lips curl like he's trying not to smile. "And I'm no idiot."

"Are you sure about that?" I spit angrily. "Because you look like one from where I'm standing."

He grins like he can't help himself. "How mature of you, Eliana."

It's the first time he's used my name. I hadn't even been completely sure that he knew what it was. We'd surpassed the need for any formal introductions – how would that have gone, anyway? _Hi, I'm Eliana, but some people call me Lia – and no, that wasn't an invitation to be one of them_._ You must be James Potter, Head Boy, right? We've been going to the same school for the last six years, but, considering the divide between class years is about as wide as the space between Earth and Saturn, I figure there's still a lot I don't know about you. Not that I'm interested or anything. To me, you're just the guy who threw me to the ground (totally unnecessary, by the way), the guy who interrupted a perfectly decent getaway attempt, the guy who happens to be the sole reason I'm stuck in this entire mess. It's nice to meet you._

"_Eliana_," Kayley mimics, snickering. "I can't remember the last time anyone called you Eliana." She looks over to James and tells him, one corner of her mouth tugged up into a smile, "Just call her Lia."

"Lia," he says, testing it out. Up close, now that he's not pinning me down to the wet grass, I get a better look at James' face. He's really good-looking, sure, but it's his eyes I really notice. They're brown and gorgeous, and just as sharp as the rest of him; it's like they can see straight through me. It's a pity we don't like each other very much. His glance briefly travels to my shirt – or rather, the absence of aforementioned shirt over my cleavage – before he manages to collect himself and quickly pulls his gaze back up to my face. Is he _blushing_? "Start walking."

Glaring at him, I try to jerk my arm out of his grasp, but he's too strong and his hold's too tight. He ignores me, nudging Kayley's shoulder, steering her forward. I stagger a few paces, the firewhiskey hampering my reaction time, before I realise he's dragging me with him, too. Apparently James has decided we aren't talking anymore, because despite all my goading and snide remarks, he doesn't say a word back to me.

We're only five feet away from the knot of staff and left-over teenagers when Professor Thomas calls, "There's Miss Wright," and gestures emphatically towards me with one hand. He shakes his head, exasperated. "I knew you were nothing but trouble from the moment you joined my House."

"Of all the nerve!" I shout back at him.

"And Lockhart, too. Nothing good comes of the two of you being together," Thomas sighs. "I told James to keep you both apart. Three minutes of your conspiratorial whispering and you'll have come up with an escape plan."

"Three? We'd barely need _one_, Professor," Kayley smirks, stepping away from James and moving to stand by me. "You always said we were too clever for our own good."

Waving us away, Professor Thomas drawls, "I'll deal with you in my office – I'm sure, Kayley, you and Lia both know how to get there. And James will accompany you." I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off. "That isn't debatable. Now _go_." I huff as James begins to lead me away from the scene with Kayley in tow.

"Are you feeling sorry now?" he asks, minutes later.

"I'm sorry that Kayley's in trouble," I reply shortly. It's not as if I'm entirely responsible for getting her into this – she's a big girl who can make her own decisions, in any case – but I'd been the one to tell her about tonight, to ask her to come with me.

"So you aren't sorry that _you're_ in trouble?"

A flash of anger heats up in my chest. I'm not usually a role-model for self-restraint, but I concentrate on breathing in and out deeply for twenty full seconds before I trust myself to speak. "I wouldn't even _be _in trouble if it weren't for you." Maybe I should have waited twenty seconds. "Neither would Kayley, so if there's anything to be sorry for, it's your existen – _Ow!_" I yelp as Kayley pinches my butt, giving me the unmistakable 'please, _please_ shut up' look.

James spares us a vaguely amused look. "Are you okay?" he asks, not that he actually cares.

"I'm fine," I grumble. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, before I can object, he gingerly settles a hand in the centre of my back. I automatically jerk at the contact, but he keeps his palm against me, guiding me forward. Probably to make sure I don't try to make a run for it _again_. Not that he has anything to be concerned about – I'm not stupid enough to think I have a chance of actually getting away, and I've already fulfilled my 'brutal tackling' quota for the night. I let James lead me down the corridor like a lamb to the slaughterhouse without another word of protest.

* * *

_Dedicated to my amazing friend, Charlie.  
Let me know what you thought!_


End file.
